


sunday clothes

by meliapis



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (sing that in the sound of music way you cowards), AU where Connor is sent out a year earlier than canon, Age Difference, Anderson!Reader - Freeform, Eventual Romance, F/M, Reader is 17 going on 18, Reader is Hanks daughter, Strangers to Lovers, there will be ocs in this If I continue to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2020-06-03 04:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19456825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meliapis/pseuds/meliapis
Summary: “To answer your question, Miss Anderson, my name is Connor,” the android introduced from the back.“Well, nice to meet you, Connor,” she said, enthusiastically shoving a hand between the two front car seats to offer it to him. She gave him her name in reply. “Please, use it. Miss Anderson makes me have war flashbacks to my English class.”AKA the alternate universe where Connor is sent by Cyberlife a year and four months earlier and you (Hanks seventeen-year-old daughter) play a part in introducing him to deviancy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic solely depends on feedback and my own inspiration so please...  
> COMMENT. 
> 
> you can also find the story on my tumblr. username is meliapis. 
> 
> enjoy.

**April 2037**

Thirty-to-forty minute time periods left an ample amount of space to butter up the lunchroom ladies, find the usual spot on the bench under the steel awning, then contemplate the remainder of the day while munching on a nutrient-filled substitute posing as a midday snack for all teenagers alike. It wasn’t the worst thing she could be eating, then again, that was the way of school food—it was tolerable. Not good, not bad, just tolerable enough to finish when desperate to fill the void of boredom in one’s stomach. 

She could very well have skipped the hearty “nourishment” and focused on other, more worthwhile things like the homework weighing her bag down, but the option was left on the back burner as soon as the papers had touched her desk that day. 

It seemed to be a repetitive process, what with senioritis chipping away at the remnants of inspiration school hadn’t found a way to crush yet. Motivation was lacking with graduation looming over all the upperclassmen’s heads and the majority of the faculty couldn’t blame them. It was the old, sniggering witches like Mrs. Watts who were merciless and assigned grueling class work that followed the students home. 

Everyone swore she lived passed her due date just to watch the world burn and steal the last bit of light from student’s eyes before summer revived them. What else could it possibly be for when she be dished out assignments like a card dealer in Vegas? 

There should be a law against school work with only two months left before graduation. Four years of hormone-imbued hell marked her a veteran in these parts so where was her concession? She had seen the darkest parts of teen-humanity, lived through the confidence-crushing world war of puberty. There should be metals for putting up with high school bullshit. 

Relinquishing her self-served views, she let the lingering annoyance exit through her hands as she pulverized the plastic bag of bland, whole wheat chips. Crumbs spilled instead of the blood of her enemies but that was to be expected. Made cleaning up the crime scene easier, too. 

While waiting on that grubby school bench, she was well aware of the passage of time with the number of songs that flowed through one earbud into her subconscious and out the other, uninhabited ear. The usually duration of the thirty-to-forty minutes accrued to fifty, then a whole hour had gone by. It hadn’t been the first time she found herself stuck on school grounds longer than she’d have liked to be. 

Checking the time was as futile as checking her messages, and the date proved that today was, in fact, Tuesday. 

_ Better have a good excuse _ , she thought, switching from her current playlist to one that would fill ever growing the void and keep the “what ifs” from spouting like weeds. She already had enough to worry about besides her grizzled old man, like homework for example. 

Glancing down at the bag crumpled at her feet, she scoffed and kicked it further under the bench, banishing responsibility to its designated “worry about it later” corner with the pesky worst case scenarios. It wasn’t like it was due first hour tomorrow, and the old man was as bad at time management as he was at chess. He’d be here soon. 

Warbled notes of a familiar song drained from her head as she recognized a hand shaking her awake, furious in its grip. She knew that rough texture of skin anywhere, it almost scratched at her own as the large palm trailed over her jaw and pushed back her hair. 

Opening her eyes to a blurry world, vexation laced her voice as she spoke. “‘Bout fuckin’ time!” 

The slur of sleep she could have gone without but it enhanced the anger expressed if only a bit and contrasted greatly with the 60s show tune her earbud produced. 

“The hell are you still out here for? It’s about to be dark out!”

She squinted at his harsh tone and then behind him at the dim scenery. He was right; the sun had set or was close to it, at least, but was the last thing she cared about right now. 

“I was waiting for you! It’s  _ Tuesday _ !” she fumed, swatting his bear claw off her shoulder and rolling over the back of the bench before leaning down to retrieve her bag and the small school tablet she’d dropped. Hopefully her paper had auto-saved. “You’re always late, how was I supposed to know you’d forget?!”

“I didn’t forget,” he said, stealing the school accessory from her as he started for the aged vehicle parked by the curb. “Shit came up at work—I got busy.”

“Too busy to send me a text?” 

“Fuckin—” he growled under his breath, taking a deep breath before gritting out, “Yeah. Didn’t have time to text, didn’t even have time to think about something other than work, okay?”

She shook her head at his temper. He was at hot-headed as ever. “Why are you so mad? I’m fine. Nothing happened.”

They reached the car and she watched as he wrenched open the back door on the driver’s side, throwing her things in with dry chuckle. 

“Anything could have happened and you damn well know that, falling asleep out in the open.” He pointed a finger at her as he swung his door open, grey hairs clinging to his tense expression from sweat. “And you’re not helping with the attitude—”

“What?” It came out as a shriek as she yanked the earbud out, glaring vehemently over the roof of the pollution on wheels. “You’re late as shit! I have every right to have an attitude and I’ve been stuck in this hellhole all day!”

“I don’t want to hear it. Get in the car.” 

If he thought slamming the car door was the end of the conversation he had another thing coming. 

As she ducked into the passenger seat and strapped in, slamming the door even harder than the raging bull next to her, she continued. “It’s not my fault you forgot to tell your daughter you couldn’t pick her up after school and it’s not my fault I fell asleep after starting a  _ five-page essay  _ on the topic of  _ politics _ in  _ Julius Caesar _ !”

He paused in changing gears, glancing over for half of a second before he sighed and brought a hand to his face. The man practically melted into the car seat as he rubbed at his eyes, stress evident in his stiff shoulders. Time hadn’t been kind to him and she knew that all too well. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, weary as he looked at her again. “I was just… Nearly had a heart attack when I remembered what day it was. Half hoped you were already home and you weren’t answering your phone.”

She blanched at that, glancing down at her screen. It lit up at her prodding to showcase the missed calls and she wondered how the hell she hadn’t woken up. With the music blasting in her ears she supposed she was too comfortable with blaring noises. Also would explain why her alarms did diddly squat in the mornings. 

“Shit,” she murmured, “sorry.”

He blinked at her and she stared, waiting for something else. Then, finally, he blew out a short breath and nodded. 

“I’d fall asleep too if I had to deal with Shakespeare again.”

She cracked a smile at that and he smirked, shifting the car out of park. 

“We’ll go pick up something to eat. Too late to cook now.”

She went to agree before a disembodied voice interrupted from the back seat. 

“I suggest something nearby as many establishments are preparing to close as of right now.”

Jerking around as her old man cussed under his breath, she took in the sight of the brunet sitting behind her seat in shock. His dark eyes met hers. A flash of yellow had her gawking in amazement. 

“Forgot he was back there.”

Her jaw dropped as she turned. “How do you just forget about someone in the backseat?”

“It’s an android,” he breathed, eyes hostile. “I’d pretend they didn’t exist if they weren’t everywhere I looked.”

“He still had to sit through all of that!” she hissed. 

“If you are worried about me overhearing your argument, you have no need. I have no reason to repeat anything you’ve said to the authorities.”

“Authorities?” she choked. 

“It’s a new prototype,” her father snapped, pulling away from the curb. “Working at the DPD for the next few months to assist with cases. Seems Cyberlife wants to steal even more jobs.”

“Dad,” she mumbled, embarrassed by his behavior. 

“Cyberlife is not trying to steal jobs, Lieutenant. They are merely attempting to create an android that will be of great use to the police and decrease Detroit’s high crime rate.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So…” she began, a lilt to her voice as her old man groaned a resounding, “Don’t!”

She grinned. “You’re a robo-cop?” 

“You’re dead to me. No big fry tonight.”

“What? C’mon, we always get two big fries!”

“Yeah an’ it’s gonna be one and it’s gonna be all mine.”

“To answer your question, Miss Anderson, my name is Connor,” the android spoke from the back.

“Well, nice to meet you, Connor,” she said enthusiastically shoving a hand between the two front car seats to offer it to him. She gave him her name in reply. “ _ Please _ , use it. Miss Anderson makes me have war flashbacks to my English class.”

“Apologies, my etiquette protocol said it would be best to call you such due to my business relationship with your father.”

“And what does that relationship entail, exactly?” she questioned as he took her hand in a firm, not-too-tight-not-too-soft handshake. 

“I was assigned to him as his partner, therefore, I will be assisting him in any crimes or cases that should arise.”

“That’s nice,” she hummed, then looked to her dad as she spun back around her seat to face forward. “You’ve been going solo for too long. Least I know you’ll have someone to watch your back.”

“Something, I will have some _ thing _ to follow me around like a glorified poodle.” 

“That “poodle” can shoot a gun better than you can.”

“He’s a robot. You expect that to insult me?”

“You’re right, I’ve chipped away at your ego for seventeen years now. Best stop while I’m ahead.”

“Not getting any soda tonight either.”

“You’re a cold, cold man,” she muttered, resting an elbow on the door to stare out at the approaching night. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback really helps!!!

“So you’re one of the newest models I’m guessing?” 

She liked to think the question could be something akin to asking his age, just in a roundabout way. Though, now that she had asked, she felt it was somewhat rude as no one really _liked_ to give out there age except for those who’d just hit twenty-one and finally had the lawful right to get absolutely shit-faced. She, on the other hand, absolutely hated when someone asked. It felt demeaning in a way, like seventeen wasn’t good for anything except relating to one of ABBA’s hit songs which was about the only good thing to happen this year. That and a handful of other, small things. Insignificant details of her life or so she told herself to keep a modest mindset. 

“Currently, I am the newest model to be created by Cyberlife,” Connor explained, turning to look at her instead of Hank, head swiveling like an owl’s—precise and debilitating to anyone else. She thought his stare more assessing than targeting by now, due to soft russet eyes and an adorable face. 

Instead of being zeroed in on Hank, who was busy ordering two meals (with soda and fries, thank you very much) from the good old restaurant, Burger Zone, he watched her and she realized she’d zoned out. 

“—but I am only a precursor for the future distribution of RK800s.”

She hummed, pretending she’d heard every last word. Leaning over her crossed arms that rested on the cool table she’d picked out among the five others, she read over various curses and coupled names. This one had some character with all the graffiti, therefore it was her chosen place of partaking in greasy fast food. “What does that mean? You’re “only” a precursor?”

“I’m a field test, meant to retrieve data and send reports that would benefit my next model and lessen the percent of failure in its future missions.”

“Can’t you just...learn from your mistakes and get the upgrades yourself? Seems like a waste of money to make another you.”

She saw a faint flicker of yellow at that statement. Did he have to search the archives for her bit of curiosity?

“It’s a precaution. Should I be damaged, the data would keep my next model from being destroyed in a similar fashion.”

A nod came in reply on her behalf as she fiddled with the salt shaker at the center, its pepper companion missing. What a lonely existence. 

“Would your next model have all your memories? Would he remember this conversation?”

“If this conversation is classified as important to Cyberlife, then, yes, it would retain our conversation.”

She sulked at that, finger slipping on the container. Cause and effect sent it rolling, scattering grains of (primarily) sodium chloride across the vandalized table surface. 

“Ah, shit.” She hurried to grab the seasoning and dash a small portion into her hand before sitting it up straight. Tossing the salt over her left shoulder, she sighed and leaned back in her seat as her father approached with their food. 

He raised an eyebrow at the action, glancing behind her seat then back at her. “Knock over the salt?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, taking her soft drink from him with a soft, “thanks.”

“Your superstition is fuckin’ ridiculous.”

She took a sip through the paper straw before tossing her head back with a dramatic sigh. “This is why you have shit luck, daddio—you don’t believe in rectifying with Lady Luck.”

He rolled his eyes affectionately, scooting her wrapped-up cuisine towards her as he munched on a fry. “Shut up ‘n eat, would ya?”

“Have you always been superstitious?” Connor asked, tilting his head much like her favorite lifeform in the entire galaxy when a walk was mentioned. God was she lucky she doubled his kibble for breakfast or else the poor pup would be starving by now. 

“Only since forever,” she garbled through a mouthful of fries. “It all started with the umbrella fort—”

Hank set his cup down. “Don’t start that shit, I mean it.”

“You’re scared because it’s proof!”

“It’s not proof, it’s coincidence. Thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“Smarter than your C-average, old man.”

He pointed at her—a universal sign to watch it before the thin ice she was skipping merrily over broke. The cold water she entered could very well end up being her own soda with her clumsy habits. 

A few moments passed in silence as they ate, Connor analyzing the hazardous ingredients and chews per minute. From his immediate observation he learned little besides how Hank made a mess with each bite and his daughter practically inhaled her food, yet managed to keep her space clean. Of the two, she was easier to read with her wide range of expressions but she was complex in her way of speaking. She was subject to change at any minute, focusing on matters the android had to search to compute. 

Despite being the father of such an emotionally sporadic human, his new partner seemed to only have three: angry, annoyed, or sarcastic. 

He had yet to make any progress with the man despite consulting his programs on friendly encounters. Perhaps he was going about it the wrong way and needed to take on a different approach. After all, humans were complicated and interacted differently when it came to socializing.

His indicators provided solutions and the fastest route to Hank was determined to be the girl before him. He found it odd how affectionate the man could be even if all they did was bicker—correction: playful bantering. He blinked, an action meant to comfort humans more than anything. Things made a bit more sense now. 

“Connor, how fast is your counting?” 

His optics scanned her facial features, determining her to be curious of his skill set. “Are you referring to the speed at which I count vocally or the speed of counting physical objects?”

“Objects,” she specifies, hand curled beneath her chin. 

“It varies depending on the measurements of my surroundings, lighting, and numerous other factors. Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to see how many cuss words you could decipher on this table,” she chuckled earning another eye roll from her father as she turned towards him. “I was just joking, you don’t have—”

“Does “friggin” qualify as a cuss word?” 

At the sight of him staring down at the table, the girl erupted into a fit of laughter and shook her head. “Not in my dictionary.”

“There are 267, excluding Spanish swears.”

“ _Spanish_? Where?” she gasps, jumping up to frantically search. Connor assisted her by pointing to a batch of messy handwriting nearly buried under other slurs and pictures. 

“You can read that? What the shit.”

“Language,” Hank grumbled. “You got a free pass before but that’s all I’m allowin’ today.”

“You know I don’t curse out higher authority without good reason so why can’t I express myself like you so eloquently do?”

“Because I gotta draw the line somewhere. Screwed up enough in raisin’ you as is.”

Her jaw dropped as she faced her old man. “Highly offensive considering I’m literally every teacher’s favorite, make okay grades, and do the dishes went it’s _your_ turn to do them.”

He shrugged, shaking some ice into his mouth from his drained cup. “You condone pineapple on pizza. Something went wrong somewhere.”

“You’re no longer relevant,” she muttered, pushing away from the table and stretching. Retrieving her phone from her back pocket, she winced at the time displayed. “I gotta turn in some online work soon. We need to get going.”

“Alright, hold your horses,” Hank sighed, fishing his keys out and cleaning up his trash. His daughter was quicker about it, speed-waking to the car as Connor kept pace with his partner. 

“Shouldn’t you be headin’ back to headquarters or something?” he asked. 

“I’ve not collected any critical data to relay to Cyberlife.”

The android’s proclamation (or at least to him, anyway) was met with wide eyes from the young girl as she spun away from her march towards the vehicle. “Wait, you don’t have anywhere to stay?” 

The RK800 met her concerned gaze at her inquiry. “I will report back to the DPD as the Lieutenant is now off duty.”

“That sounds lonely,” she said and although it was meant to describe Connor’s situation she made it a point to direct her attention to her father with a scowl on her face. 

All it took was one look from him to recognize her silent assertion. “No.”

“He could keep Sumo company when you pass out!”

“No.”

“He could help me with my homework?”

“Oh, so _now’s_ he's a machine?”

“That’s not what I—look, he’s already here! Why can’t you be nice for a change?” she pushed, arm waving in a fit of exasperation. The tension began to build as they faced off, once again, by the beat up old car. This time, however, there wouldn’t be an understanding between them.

“Not sayin’ it again,” Hank rasped, pocketing a hand as he strolled around to his side of the car with tense shoulders and a mean curl to his lips. 

As the door slammed shut behind him, she lowered her head with a sigh, deflated like a day old balloon. Connor stood a few paces behind her, preparing to call himself a cab. 

Before he could connect, she whirled around and planted her feet right in front of his own. Ten digits spilled from her lips—a phone number his processors quickly resolved to be her own. 

“Text or call, doesn’t really matter,” she said with a smirk. “I’ll let you in. He’s passed out by eleven thirty—”

“Lieutenant Anderson preferred that I not stay with you,” he reiterated, chin lowering as he stared through her. “I would be going against his orders.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t give you a direct order to stay away, did he?” 

Her confidence had him replaying the conversation. It had been an understood directive to not return home with his partner, albeit, she wasn’t wrong. 

“You don’t have to,” she spoke up at his silent conjecturing, “I’m only offering in case you want some company. Sumo’s a pro at it.”

“Androids do not experience loneliness if that is what concerns you,” he said evenly while another part of him studied how much training a dog had to go through to be an exemplary companion. Apparently, it didn’t take much. 

“You say that, but I can’t really believe it,” she said with a shrug. “Even if you don’t feel it, I will. I can’t imagine being stuck at the bullpen all night.” She shuddered before the drone of a window rolling down sounded. 

“You got a paper due or what?” Hank called. 

“Coming!” she yelled over her shoulder, looking at Connor one last time, grin prominent. “You have my number; don’t waste the opportunity. I don’t just give that out to anyone.”

With a lazy wave, she retreated to the car, folding into the passenger seat and buckling up. The RK800 watched as they drove away into the night, the number she gifted him nested in his contact list. She had been the first to supply it to him herself and was the only one without an active purpose in his mission. 

His inner clock read 10:40 PM, less than an hour until Lieutenant Anderson would be unavailable for the night. Walking would take a bit after a quick search and download of the address he needed. Almost the perfect arrival time, actually.

A minute or so had passed while driving for Hank and his daughter. She was already staring out the window to soothe the boring ride home with passing lights and shady figures on the street side when her phone vibrated. Pulling it from the depths of her pocket, she held back a smile at the message from an unknown number.

**313 248 317 - 50: Will 11:42 PM be an adequate arrival time?**

A second had barely gone by before another text came through.

**313 248 317 - 50: This is Connor by the way.**

She held back her laugh as she typed. **Oh really? I wouldn’t have guessed by your matching jacket number.**

**313 248 317 - 50: I didn’t think you would recognize it. When did you memorize it?**

**I didn’t. I just remember the 50 at the end and most phone numbers don’t end like that so...**

**313 248 317 - 50: You’re correct. It’s a serial number not a phone number.**

**Is that like your social security number?**

**313 248 317 - 50: That would be an accurate analogy as there are a few differences, but they are meant to accomplish the same goal overall.**

**See? I’m smart.**

**313 248 317 - 50: I never assumed otherwise.**

Funny, it felt like a compliment somehow. She doesn’t let herself mull it over for long. With one last text to Connor and a quick name change on her contact list, she clicks her phone off and rests her head back against the window.

It was going to be another long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally wrote some more for sweet connor. hope you enjoy it!

The house was bare with no flowers or shrubbery decorating the front, nor a knocker or welcome mat by the door. The neighborhood trash cans were the only thing to stand out besides the light emitting from the front window. It was all very “dull” or so his central processing dictated which he was always inclined to agree with. 

He had arrived on time as scheduled so all there was left to do was contact one of the two owners within the house. Seeing as Hank didn’t exactly extend him an invitation, Connor remained true to the plan he’d devised hours ago and texted the Lieutenant’s daughter. 

Inside, her phone lit up on her nightstand, drawing her eyes away from her tablet and therefore away from her homework that was already late. The majority of it was done but she had been occupied with other things since she’d gotten home. 

In a hurry to snatch her device up, she about toppled from her bed in an effort to read the text from her newest android acquaintance. 

**RoboCop: I’ve arrived outside your designated home.**

She quirked her lips at his proper speech and shuffled over to her window, drawing the blinds up and scattering dust into the air. Maybe she should quit doing her old man’s chores and stick to her own. 

**Come around to the left. He passed out on the couch tonight and Sumo’s keeping guard.**

**RoboCop: Affirmative.**

Sliding the glass pane up, she stuck her head out into the foggy night and watched a dark figure approach from around the corner. The small blip of blue at the top had any anxiety fading at the possibility of a stranger showing up in his stead. 

“You should tone down the butler speak, y’know?” she called to him in a soft voice, ducking back inside as he stepped in front of her. “People don't say “affirmative” they say “yeah” or “all right.” Just basic, normal stuff.”

“I will work on my speech etiquette, then,” he answered, staring through the opening window at her. 

She blinked, scratching at the crook of her elbow. “You coming in?”

He tilted his head, temple flickering yellow. “My shoes will track dirt into your room.”

“It’s fine. I need to vacuum anyway,” she waved off, returning to her bed to shut down her tablet. As she did so, the RK800 let himself in, climbing through with an agility people could only dream of having. Once inside, he made sure to close the window as to not let the draft continue. After all, humans were known to grow ill if temperatures were below average. 

“Okay, so, turns out Sumo is keeping dad company tonight since he drank himself into a stupor again,” she sighed, grabbing her satchel from school to pack all her technology as well as what appeared to be a wallet. “It sucks, but I guess you’re stuck here by yourself until I get back.”

“You’re leaving?” Connor questioned, only curious despite the chip in her once solid plan.

“Yeah.”

“May I inquire as to where you’re going so late at night?”

She grinned as he studied her. “Depends. You gonna tell on me?” 

“If it breaks any laws I will have to as I am working for the DPD.”

“It’s not illegal,” she laughed, shaking her head. “You could say it’s my night job. More of a hobby than anything else, though.”

“Am I correct in assuming the Lieutenant has no prior knowledge of this hobby?”

“He knows about it, just not that I sneak out to do it on school nights,” she said with a shrug, heading over to a dresser. He observed from his spot by the window as she ran a brush through her hair and grabbed a few items from the bottom drawer. He was able to make out a cord designed for high end microphones before she stuffed it into her bag. 

Before Connor could ask another question, a muted buzz reverberated. She was quick to retrieve her phone from her back pocket and hold it up to her ear. 

“Be there in a sec,” she said, glancing at him before turning away. “Is there any room for an extra person?”

A muffled voice was registered as Connor listened, unable to make out the other side of the conversation. 

“Yeah, I’ll just sit on Austin’s lap—he’s used to it.” Her laugh sounded before she hung up, beaming at him from across the small room. “You have a free ticket if you wanna tag along. You don’t have to, but if you do, I’ll have to give you a quick makeover.”

“Makeover?” he parroted. 

“Where we're going  _ might _ not be the best place to show off your cute, little loading light, here,” she said, walking over to tap gently at his temple. It was then she realized his above average height with an appreciative hum. “Beanie, new jacket and poof! You’re invisible.”

“I would be hiding my identity.”

“Think of it as going undercover. You could get some more data on how to be more normal while you’re at it!” She smiled at him as he let her words sink in, weighing the pros and cons. 

“I’d like to know where we’re going before I give you my final answer.”

She nodded. “It’s a small warehouse for concerts—Rouge Wave. I help with the live music there and it’s a hot spot for people my age and older.”

“You’re a musician?” He watched her flounder a bit, scratching behind her ear as she blew out a long breath.

“Yeah, I don’t know, I don’t...really…” She shrugged, rolling her eyes as she looped her arms through her bag’s straps. “I don’t talk about it outside these gigs. It’s like a guilty pleasure.”

Yellow flashes as her phone blips again and she raises her brow at the android. “They’re gettin’ antsy. You wanna stay here?”

Connor knew he was made to be a detective and to find flaws in the beings that created him. His main objective had nothing to do with this girl or her “guilty pleasures” in the music industry. But being a detective warranted him a cop and cops were meant to protect and serve. Thus, this offered venture would fall under that rule.

“I would like to come,” he tells her, finally, and with a smile that is proven to be bigger than the handful he’s seen with his built-in measuring system, she gestures to her closet.

“C’mon, then, let's get you suited up.” As she tossed a few items of clothing his way, she asked, “Do you like music?”

“I don't exactly listen to music.” He met her warm gaze as he practiced a small grin. “But I'd like to.”

.

.

.

  
  


A dented door to an equally dented van slid open to reveal her group of friends bustling about as was the usual on nights like these. Their greetings rang out into the night, a pop tune fading as their driver lowered the volume to have her voice heard.

“Adding another stray to our band of misfits, sire?” 

She scoffed. “Nah, he’s just here for a good time.” Turning to face Connor, she double checked his beanie and jacket.The sunglasses were a little overkill, but if anyone got sight of his default clothes, she’d be in for an earful.

“Well, what’s his name? I’m on the edge of my seat here,” Lola laughed, hand sliding over the steering wheel as she craned her around her headrest to get a good look at their newest acquaintance. 

The girl vibrated her lips as she thought it over. “Goes by Fifty. Don’t ask—it’s a long story.”

Connor eyed her as she glanced over her shoulder at him and nodded stiffly along with the cover. “Yes, it’s not a very engaging tale.”

The face she made proved he was off to a bad start with this whole “fitting in” business.

“Huh,” Lola nodded, sharing a smile with who she recognized as Johnny in the passenger seat. “Well, welcome to the party van. Seatbelts are required.”

“Such a stickler!” Austin groaned teasingly from the far back as Hank's daughter climbed in, pointing to the empty seat behind the driver for Connor. He waited for her to collapse into the back, spreading herself over the three occupying the space before stepping into the vehicle and shutting the door behind him.

“Get your feet off of me!”

“Yeah, Austin’s the one with the foot fetish.”

“Oh, fuck off, Nicki."

“Fifty!” she called, her palm landing on the middle person with a loud slap to gain the android’s attention as the victim replied with a sharp, “ _ Shit!” _

“This kink shamer is Nicki. The one who is trying to push my feet off their lap is Teddy and this one,” she used her free hand to tap the brunet’s nose for clarification, “is Austin, my muse.” 

The car hooted as if it was a grand love confession to which she answered with a raised middle finger. 

“I’m Lola, designated driver,” the girl upfront stated. “The guy next to me is Johnny and behind me is Larry.”

“Are you all a part of the band?” Connor asked, meeting Lola’s gaze in the rearview mirror. His quick read on her told him she was of a hispanic descent with some african american mixed in. She had no crime record, nor did anyone else in the car save for Teddy who apparently was fined for graffiting the side of a building.

“Nah, Larry’s just here to hang. The others are, though. The  _ muse  _ is our guitarist,” she crooned. “Nicki is our drummer, Johnny the base, and Teddy is on top of beats and remixes.”

“Just say DJ.”

“They’re our DJ!” she sung dramatically. “Happy?”

“Over the moon.”

“Looks like you already know our siren here,” Larry spoke, turning around to smirk at the RK800. “Did she lure you in with her voice?”

“He hasn’t heard me,” she sighed, tone indicating she was embarrassed.

“Not yet, you mean,” Austin hummed, running a couple of fingers through her hair as she snuggled into his abdomen. Connor noticed the increased heartbeat and ultimately decided that they were a couple.

“Is “sire” short for siren, then?” he questioned as she smiled at him.

Teddy gave a low whistle. “Catches on quick, this one.” They earned a jab to the arm from her for that little comment.

“Excuse them, they don’t like meeting new people,” she told Connor.

“It’s  _ sarcasm,  _ you abusive woman.”

“We’re leading on with 2010s right?” Johnny cut in.

“Lola!” she hissed, sitting up with a start. Austin pouted at the interrupted cuddle session. “I thought you went over all this with him?”

“Chill, okay? He’s just double checking. You like to switch things around last minute sometimes,” Lol defended, taking a right turn onto a street laden with parallel parked cars.

“I know, I just want to make sure everyone is prepared. It gets awkward up there if we have to stop in the middle.”

“This is why I recommended a voting system,” Nicki cut in. “The fans get to hear what they want and we know what to practice.”

“That takes away the fun for me.” Connor observed her frown as the car came to a stop. “I like choosing the songs.”

“Yeah, Nicki, she chooses the best ones anyway,” Austin defended as everyone began to load out.

“Damn right I do!” Her smile was back as she winked at the RK800. “Fifty deserves only the best playlist for his first night here.”

“You play covers, then?”

She nodded. “That's all we do. I just think there's a lot of oldies that deserve to be brought back.”

“Meaning she's shit at writing her own songs.”

“Nicki I will  _ beat _ your ass.”

“O- _ K _ kids! Get your shit we are leaving the car,” Lola called, opening her door and stepping out. Everyone followed without complaint.

.

.

.

Rogue Wave was fairly large with a second story filled with tables and chairs to have a great view of the stage that sat pushed up against the far back wall. It was currently blurred out with holographic walls, programmed to hide just who was setting up on the other side.

A bar was aglow with fairy lights off to the right as Connor entered with Larry and Lola, littered with all types of alcoholic beverages and the like. He noticed there was a restricted age sign in bold, proving that while this was a hang out for the teen-humanity, it was a controlled space. Many adults were here as well.

“What do you think?” Lola asked as Larry grabbed them a high table overlooking the stage on the second floor.

“It's all very inviting despite its size,” Connor decided.

“Yeah, the boss does his best to make it a safe place, even if there's booze,” she chuckled. “You seem old enough, by the way, are you out of high school?”

He was firmly against lying in this situation, it was against protocol, but he couldn’t be outright with them. “I didn’t attend high school.”

“Oh, home schooled, then? Cool, Larry here is a sophomore in college so don't fret about hanging with some little high school seniors, yeah?” She scanned over a small menu placed on the equally small table and hummed, asking if they wanted anything. Larry asked for a soda and Connor declined, not needing substance of any kind. Of course, they didn't need to know that.

She had just left to order when the main lights in the warehouse went dark and spotlights turned to the stage.

“Here we go,” Larry clapped, cheering as the blurred walls rippled with different patterns, clearing up just enough to reveal five figures all prepared with their chosen instrument, including the leader, whom Connor immediately recognized by her height and figure. Her body language exhibited clear signs of exhilaration as her hazy form tapped the mic. 

“Testing, testing,” she said, earning all kinds of cheers as she laughed. “Guess you can hear me, then. You all ready for Midnight Madness?” The chanting was a definite yes as she gave a thumbs up to her crew, then tugged at the shoulder trap that kept her guitar steady against her front. “Okay, if you were here last week you know we got a bit too wild with the 90s… Sorry Chad.”

She waved and Connor turned in the direction her body faced to see gentleman behind the bar who saluted her with a smirk. Conner assumed he was the owner of this establishment. 

“So tonight we're getting  _ less  _ wild with the 2010s! Let's go!”

The applause drowned out the start of the song which was mostly made up of a techno beat from an advanced looking soundboard (belonging to Teddy, Connor recalled as they were the DJ) and some action from the drums. The base gave a few chords every once in a while alongside the guitar but Connor found himself focusing on the voice and the chorus of “la la la la”s flowing from her lips.

_ “I want you to love me, _

_ Like I'm a hot ride.” _

The chosen song was instantly registered by one of his programs. As the Lieutenant's daughter had stated, it was released in 2010 and it appeared to be a good choice for the first song of the night as the audience was metaphorically “eating it up,” especially the older adults who seemed to recall the lyrics. The entire place was up in arms as the chorus hit.

_ “Want you to make me feel _

_ Like I'm the only girl in the world _

_ Like I'm the only one that you'll ever love _

_ Like I'm the only one who knows your heart _

_ Only girl in the world--” _

“She's good right?” Lola yelled over the her, catching Connor's attention. He hadn’t noticed her return. 

His processors deemed their siren as above average by the advanced singing techniques administered or so his searches disclosed. 

“Yes, she sings quite well.”

“I'm hoping one of these days someone'll scout her. She deserves to be on a real stage someday!” The emotion with which she said it allowed Connor to see just how much the girl cared for Hank's daughter. She was surrounded by good people, he noted, and it lowered the possibility of something going on without parental supervision. He supposed in human terms it would “ease his worry” should he have felt it. 

When he returned his focus to the stage he found she was rocking along to the beat of the music and moving across the stage. He studied the way she moved and found passion coming up in his search for what fueled a human to do such things. She was passionate about this hobby of hers. It was his first time seeing such a thing.

Could he also be passionate about a hobby? Or could he be such for his line of work? 

**_Software Instability ^^^_ **

“You sure you don't want something, Fifty? Don't worry about paying me back!”

“No, thank you,” he said, optics focused on that fading deterrent. He wasn't sure what had caused it and all scans told him everything was running smoothly. If this was a malfunction in his software, it would have to be fixed in his successor. After all, he was only a test subject. Defectives were inevitable.

.

.

.

As the first few songs echoed into oblivion, she realized just how stiff Connor looked from her spot on stage. The one-way shield was handy so people wouldn’t snitch on her to her dad and it allowed her to make eye-contact and never have to worry about actually be on the other end of it.

Watching Connor, she wondered if androids could be uncomfortable before putting on a smile for the bustling crowd (even if it was pointless). The next song was a bit slower and more soulful in terms of lyrical meaning but she knew the older generation would enjoy it nonetheless and those of the teens that knew what real music was. People needed a break from the mosh pit anyway.

“I hope you all know  _ The Killers _ ,” she spoke into the mic, grinning as someone screamed  _ “fuck yeah!”  _ from the back. She pointed in the general direction of the voice and nodded, “That's what I'm talking about. Get on his level, people.”

The laughter was the best part of these in-betweens, that and some cold water for her parched throat. After a few sips, she checked on her bandmates and gave a thumbs up when she tilted her head. They were ready.

Austin introduced the song with his chords and she was happy he’d been taking to the lessons she dished out by the week. Back when they’d started dating the band had been eating up a lot of her time and he’d felt neglected so joining them was the best thing he could do. The bass wasn’t his strong suit but he was learning and whenever slip ups occurred she could drown them out with her voice or guitar. But tonight he knew his part and so all there was to do was sing.

_ “I did my best to notice _

_ When the call came down the line _

_ Up to the platform of surrender _

_ I was broad but I was kind” _

_ Thank God they love this, _ she thought as she sung, relieved to see everyone jamming along. It was a nice break from all the jumping around and Chad didn’t have to worry about bruised customers. She wasn’t sure why but the 90s had just hit different last week and she’d been stuck here helping clear the aftermath until three in the morning. One person had left in an ambulance. It was a good thing her dad slept like the dead or she’d be in deep shit for sneaking out to these gigs.

_ “Close your eyes _

_ Clear your heart… _

_ Cut the cord _

_ Are we human? _

_ Or are we dancers? _

_ My sign is vital _

_ My hands are cold” _

God, she’d forgotten how much she loved this song, there was always so much emotion when she sang it, balling up within her chest until the chorus allowed it to flow out. It was a nice moment to be in, something to live for on the bad days when she had no idea where she was going or she was.

If only she could make something like this, then maybe someone would feel the same way. All because of her work. 

.

.

.

The hangout closed at two in the morning as it always did. The closing song had sent everyone off with warm regards and hopefully a desire to return when she and her band mates played again. Then, the doors were locked and they were on their own once more. 

As everyone was putting away their supplies, Chad waved her over. She passed her guitar to Austin to take care of before jumping down through the deactivated shield and sauntering by Connor and her two friends who’d come down to help with weak-handed finger guns. 

“What’s up boss man?” she greeted, hopping up onto a tall bar stool as he cleaned off the counter with a well-loved rag. 

“Got your tips,” he said, pointing to a small metal bin at the end of the island. “Paycheck should be nice by the looks of things.”

“Old place keeping you steady?” she laughed.

“I’m living my best life,” he chuckled, tossing the rag over his shoulder like a true barman from the movies. “Your gang brings in the crowd. Usually out of my good scotch by the end of the night.”

“What can I say? We’re just Godsend.”

A whistle from behind told her it was time to head out. Record time for packing. 

Exhaustion finally hit by the time they were all loaded in the car and her heart went out to Lola who still had to drop off all the goons (well, maybe not all of them; she seemed to be getting awfully close to Larry upfront).

“Does he live near you or something?” Austin asked on the drive home. You hummed against his shoulder having been dozing off.

“Who?”

“Fifty.”

“Oh,” you murmured, “No. He kinda works with my dad? Like shadowing and shit.”

“You invited your dad’s  _ coworker  _ to see you sing?” The judging was heavily implied by his tone.

“He’s a nice guy and dad passed out on him when they came back to work on files or shit at the house. Do you know how embarrassing that is?” She didn’t, really, as her dad  _ never _ brought a soul home. He did, however, pass out on her every other night with some beer in hand, so that part wasn’t an outright lie.

“So you invited him out of pity?”

“What’s with all the interrogating? Don’t be jealous, alright? It was a good night,” she whispered harshly, doing her best to not wake their slumbering friends next to them. 

“I’m not jealous,” he huffed, and she knew now he was undoubtedly pissed. “You have to admit it’s weird, and he’s  _ older _ than all of us.”

“Teddy is in college already, I don’t see you pointing fingers at them.”

“That’s not the same and you know it.”

“First stop of the night! Thank you for driving with…” Lola stopped in the middle of her goodbye as she turned, apparently picking up on some hostility. “You guys good?”

“Just peachy,” [Name] stated, expression bland as she pushed away from her boyfriend and scrambled to the side door of the van. “Thanks for driving Lola, I’ll get my guitar later. Sorry to leave it with you again. C’mon, Fifty.”

Connor followed after her, wide-eyed and giving his thanks for the ride as well. Lola waved as he shut the door and they watched the car drive away, Connor also eyeing the agitated state his partner’s daughter was currently in. 

“I apologize for eavesdropping but my audio processors can reach exceptionally far due to my advanced--”

“It’s fine,” she breathed, crossing her arms. “Everyone else probably heard us, too. They don’t fall asleep that fast, not after such a fun show, anyway.” Sniffing, she turned to head towards her bedroom window, the android following behind her at a distance.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Not the first time we had a little dispute, and humans tend to argue a lot if you haven’t noticed.”

“But couples shouldn’t argue.”

“Yeah, they shouldn’t.” She laughed but he did not pick up any amusement in it. “Thanks for caring, Connor, but I shouldn’t dump all my stupid problems on you. You have way more things to worry about being a cop and all.”

“I do not have the capacity to “worry.””

“But you have the capacity to blow up if you get too stressed, now don’t you?”

He observed as she crawled through her window and into her room. “I didn’t think you’d know that as there are few cases involving such accidents.”

“Yeah, well… Surprise,” she muttered, toppling into her bed. Shortly after she groaned into her pillow. “Shit, I left my bag.”

“Shall I fetch it for you?” he asked, one leg inside the house and straddling the window seal. 

“No. Thanks, though. Lola can just give it to me at school tomorrow.”

He shut the window tightly and locked it. “You will be heavily sleep-deprived. Perhaps you should call in sick.”

“Did you just tell me to skip school?” she gasped mockingly. “You’ve been with me only a few hours and I’ve already corrupted you, how sad.”

“I am merely giving you suggestions for your health.”

“I wish lack of sleep counted as a reason to miss school,” she murmured, hugging her pillow tightly. 

“Could you not play on the weekend instead of on a school night?”

“We do, just every other week. We play every other Tuesday to make a bit of extra cash on the weekends we don’t play.” Her expression scrunched up as she looked up at him from her position. “Did that make  _ any _ sense? Cuz that sounded like straight brain vomit to me.”

“I understood it,” he told her, blinking as she grinned up at him. “You should sleep. You’re exhausted.”

“I’m going,” she yawned, leaning up to scoot under the covers and make herself comfortable. “What're you going to do?”

“I could make my way back to the station, but I know you’d prefer I stay here.”

“I won’t force you to. I just hate thinking of you all alone. Makes me sad.” She hummed and he watched her heartbeat begin to steady. “I have some books you could read or you could go through all of my stuff and learn more about me as a human.”

“Is that not invading your privacy?” he asked, confused. 

“Not if I give you permission. Knock yourself out. If you really want to leave, though, I won’t stop you. Could you turn the light off for me before you decide, though? I’m too comfortable to get up.”

“Of course,” he said, taking the few steps that lead him to the switch. As darkness settled, his night vision was triggered and he was able to make out the amusement in her expression as she giggled, eyes set in his direction. 

“What is it?”

“You’re like my little night light,” she said, tapping her temple. “I love blue.”

“Is it your favorite color?”

“Among others,” she whispered, eyes closing. “Goodnight, Connor.”

“Goodnight,” he said softly, waiting until she was in a deep slumber before wandering her room. He scanned the little things that made up her space, such as the pictures pinned all around depicting her and friends. The majority had those he’d met but there were some he hadn’t seen tonight—correction: last night. 

The dog hairs scattered around depicted Sumo as a Saint Bernard, a rather large breed. Another picture proved his scanning correct with the lieutenant’s daughter holding a pup. She was younger by a few years and with another kid much younger. His processors revealed him as her younger brother, Cole Anderson, now deceased. 

He made a note of that possibly being the cause for the lieutenant’s hostility towards androids. 

It wasn’t until some time had passed that he stumbled upon a photo book. There were more pictures of Cole in this one with her holding him as a newborn, playing in a luscious yard, and many more scenarios. The ones of his partner were very different from the man he knew currently. He was a lot happier in these pictures, younger and far healthier. Research proved grief was a terrible thing for humans to go through. 

Something didn’t sit right with him when he thought of [Name] grieving. She seemed happy and showed signs of a healthy lifestyle besides that boyfriend of hers. But thinking of the past and what she went through alongside the lieutenant seemed to stick to his coding. 

**_Software Instability ^^^_ **

_ Again? _ he wondered. Hopefully this glitch wouldn’t ruin his first week on his mission. There was still so much to do for CyberLife. 

He found what seemed to be a diary after hours of studying the locations in pictures and watching some videos of Midnight Madness filmed at the warehouse. They were quite popular on YouTube. Many commenters stated they wanted an album made. This lead  Connor to wasting a lot of time wondering why humans enjoyed cover songs and remakes of things they’d already heard or seen. Apparently not everyone enjoyed them as something called the Disney Live-Action Remakes resulted in a lot of hate and disagreement online years ago. 

He ended not having enough time to scan all of the diary as an alarm went off. Looking up, he found the source of it to be coming from somewhere in the bed. Her phone perhaps?

She didn’t stir one bit at the blaring noise, so Connor took charge of waking her after returning her diary to its rightful spot on her small but crowded bookshelf. It blended in quite well. 

“It is time to get up, [Name],” Connor said, placing a hand on her shoulder and shaking lightly. She groaned, burying her face further into her pillow. 

“Five more minutes, Lola.”

“I am not Lola. My name is Connor, I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

“Cyber-huh?” she slurred, opening her eyes to regard him. After a few blinks recognition settled over her features and she smiled. 

“You stayed. I hope you weren't too bored.” She yawned and fished for her phone in the covers to shut off the alarm. It had fallen out of her back pocket at some point during the night. 

“I had ample time to study my surroundings and learn more things about you.”

“Oh? Like what?” she hummed, stretching. 

“You have a YouTube channel run by Lola for Midnight Madness,” he said. “Your wardrobe is mostly made up of what I now know is your second favorite color.”

She chuckled, leaning up to slip out of bed. “Go on, I’m listening.”

As she went about choosing some new clothes and checking her phone, he listed multiple things she both knew and never noticed about herself. 

“Good thing my computer was in my bag,” she laughed. “Would’ve gone through my history, I bet.”

“Only with your permission,” he stated. She smiled and patted his shoulder. 

“You’re sweet, Connor. I wonder what you’d be like without all of these protocols, though. Maybe you’re secretly a snoop with or without permission.”

“Without my protocols I wouldn’t run.”

“Without rules, then,” she corrected. “Inhibitions that keep you from making a choice.”

“I can make choices depending on the situation. I already have to complete my mission.”

She hummed, interest piqued. “Which is?”

“To follow the duties of a detective alongside Hank Anderson and report any problems during my field test.”

“Sounds about right.” She started for the door, tossing her phone onto her bed. “I’m going to get changed and grab a snack. Lola will be around to pick me up soon. You can leave after.”

“Won’t lieutenant Hank be leaving soon for work?”

She snorted, shaking her head. “He goes in when he wants to nowadays so don’t count on him being there early. Sorry if he puts you behind on work. He’s an ass about that stuff.”

Connor let the new information process as she left. The patter of additional footsteps and her high pitched “good morning, Sumo!” told him who was also up at this time.  It wasn’t long before she returned, dressed differently and allowing the dog follow her in. 

“This is Sumo. Say hi to Connor,” she gushed to the Saint Bernard. The canine made his way over when he offered a hand to sniff before turning to jump on the bed. 

“Sumo! I haven’t made it, yet. You’re going to get fur all over my sheets,” she complained but made no effort to force the dog to move. 

“Isn’t he the cutest?” she asked the Android. 

“From what I’ve read about the breed online I can agree that he is. Though some would dispute it.”

“Don’t listen to the haters, Conner. They’ll drag you down.” 

A beep vibrated and she retrieved her phone from beneath the massive dog with a huff. 

“That’s my ride. Have a good day at work Connor and don’t let my grouchy dad ruin your mission. Keep him safe for me, though, okay?”

He nodded and she beamed before calling Sumo out of the room with kisses and pats to her thigh. She waved as she closed her bedroom door and he was left alone. 


End file.
